I don’t know

Wednesday, 22 May 2002

Your regular?

Found two red-tailed hawk feathers in the yard. That’s just the kind
of yard we have. Pat would really like that. She’d say something cool
about it. She’d cock her head to the side and say something so cool
and I’d pretend I didn’t think she was that cool but she’d know she
was. I’d call her Diné to make fun of her but she’d know all I
meant was the world was at her feet since her grandma’s teeth and all.

Two girls thought I was worth smiling at and quickly looking away from
while still smiling. My wife on my arm and all. You heard me right.
What? We didn’t cover the wife? Well, for goodness sakes! Let’s get
right down to the price of eggs. …Who’s kidding whom? There isn’t
that kind of money available now that the Caliphs and Maharajas are on
a peacetime budget.

I guess when friends and family die there is a tug at your coat. The
more and closer the stronger. That tug is not exactly unwelcome when
you’ve been sidling up where there’s no balance to be had all those
years. And those dreams.

I realized “Forty Six & 2.” I beat him to those words 8 years: “In My
Shadow.” Either an amazing footnote or a useless boast. What else am I?

More realizations. They could have, should have, called the cops on me
when I drew that knife on Trent. I’ll never know if I have murder in
me because I always stop when the chance comes up. My last chance to
be tried as a juvenile, slim though it was, lost to whatever latent
love I had for what the coke hadn’t erased in him. And to Cort sanely
talking him into leaving the room. We talked since on account of some
meddling kids. He seems quite a person again. I hadn’t considered that
then. Luckily, Liz and Co. considered it in my case while having
difficulty looking up the number for the police. You’re not Generation
X if you could dial “911” in high-school. Or maybe it was just more
juvenile self-preservation. They couldn’t turn me in for violence
because they risked being caught for the drugs. Silly teenagers!

I wanted to write more. To describe an apology to a French girl
without admitting hate is ever wrong when it’s pointed at that which
destroys. You told me many times hate is a bad thing and you were
never more unhealthy or more stupid. Hate of injustice, hate of
slavery, hate of ignorance, hate of the dust of a small town on your
shoes. Even hate of the distance and the lack of words by carrier
across purple mountain majesties, sargaço roses, and so on.

At least there is no evil in the world. I am painting again and I know
some of you aren’t useless. Some of you might even eventually justify
not being dead instead of Adam.

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Sedition·com is green

A store of honey had been found in a hollow tree, and the Wasps
declared positively that it belonged to them. The Bees were just
as sure that the treasure was theirs. The argument grew very
pointed, and it looked as if the affair could not be settled
without a battle, when at last, with much good sense, they
agreed to let a judge decide the matter. So they brought the
case before the Hornet, justice of the peace in that part of the
woods.

When the Judge called the case, witnesses declared that they had
seen certain winged creatures in the neighborhood of the hollow
tree, who hummed loudly, and whose bodies were striped, yellow
and black, like Bees.

Counsel for the Wasps immediately insisted that this description
fitted his clients exactly.

Such evidence did not help Judge Hornet to any decision, so he
adjourned court for six weeks to give him time to think it over.
When the case came up again, both sides had a large number of
witnesses. An Ant was first to take the stand, and was about to
be cross-examined, when a wise old Bee addressed the Court.

“Your honor,” he said, “the case has now been pending for six
weeks. If it is not decided soon, the honey will not be fit for
anything. I move that the Bees and the Wasps be both instructed
to build a honey comb. Then we shall soon see to whom the honey
really belongs.”

The Wasps protested loudly. Wise Judge Hornet quickly understood
why they did so: They knew they could not build a honey comb and
fill it with honey.

“It is clear,” said the Judge, “who made the comb and who could
not have made it. The honey belongs to the Bees.”